by Evelyn Weiss
Sir Chisholm can go, Miss. Not just back down the pier, but right back your fancy hotel or wherever you’re staying. We don’t need you here. But before you go, I need you to understand two things. Firstly, nothing happened here last night. We’ll put out this news, in our own way.” He looks at Chisholm. “Sir, you and I both know that women do too much talking and not enough thinking. If the little lady doesn’t understand the need for secrecy, can you make sure she keeps her mouth shut?”
“ Lieutenant, you told us to remember two things.” I maintain eye contact, stare him down.
“The second one is, I’m told that both of you, and Inspector Trench, are sailing on this ship this evening. Six o’clock. That sailing is going ahead, as normal. This mess here will be cleaned up without a trace in an hour’s time. Like I said, nothing happened here last night.”
It’s an effort to speak, but I do. “But… I thought you needed us here at Chelsea Piers, to identify Jimmy Nolan. What about the inquest? The evidence?”
“There’s no need to identify Nolan, and I’ll handle the inquest. That’s all you need to know. Now goodbye to you. Take her away from here, Chisholm, and I’ll be grateful if you can control that wagging tongue of hers.”
There’s silence as we walk away from the scene of carnage. Every nerve of my body feels numb, maybe because of what happened on the gangway. Or maybe because of Lieutenant Bouchard. Finally, as we stand on the sidewalk of Eleventh Avenue and Chisholm hails an early-morning cab to take us back to the hotel, I find my voice.
“You were silent, Chisholm. All the time, while that horrible man was crowing over what he’s done, you said nothing to challenge him. I thought both our nations were founded on the rule of law.”
“I agree – in general terms, Agnes. But there are times when I have had to operate outside the rule of law – for the greater good. It’s not ideal, but it’s necessary. These are dark times. We are fighting monsters, Agnes.”
“And if we don’t fight fair, then we become the monsters.”
“It’s a war, Agnes. I’ve seen war – in South Africa. That war happened because we let the situation get out of hand, and suddenly in order to win the fight against the Boers, we had to end up putting not just men but women and children in concentration camps. Our ‘great’ British empire ended up carrying out acts worthy of Caligula or Nero.”
I’m the silent one now, as he carries on. “Agnes, the horrors that I saw in South Africa – they made what we’ve just seen look half-way civilized.”
I feel a chill as I realize he’s speaking from the heart. What has he seen, that was so unspeakable? He carries on.
“Inspector Trench, Lord Buttermere, myself – we are fighting a secret war. And so, on his own patch, is Lieutenant Bouchard. A secret war is a horrible thing. But it is better to fight it – and win – than to let the secret war become a public war. Sometimes you have to use the revolver. It’s preferable to having to use the machine-gun later.”
“Do you carry one? A revolver?”
“Sometimes. I took a small concealed hand-gun when we went into Hell’s Kitchen. Secret Intelligence Bureau standard issue, to be carried only when necessary. But believe me, Agnes, I prefer it when I don’t have to carry one.”
25.Secrets under hypnosis
A few days ago, I saw the icebergs here. Now the ocean is a deep blue, stretching to a clear horizon in the fresh morning light.
A gloved hand grasps the rail of the ship next to me. I turn and smile at the face next to me. What I see is unexpected, but welcome. It’s Gwyneth Gilmour. But as I greet her, I picture to myself the torn photograph that the professor showed me. In my mind’s eye, I see the face of Jimmy Nolan.
“Agnes, I missed you at the Niagara Falls reception!”
“Well – I’m glad to see you here. The professor told me that you’d rearranged your travel plans for this sailing of the Olympic, as he did for our party.”
“Yes, we need to get back to Europe, very quickly. Calvin is in the midst of some important business deals in London. Important – and time-consuming. But I’m sorry you missed the reception – well done for completing your passenger flight. I saw Rufus’s airplane dipping and rising over Niagara Falls, it looked utterly thrilling. I wish now that Calvin and I had been his passengers…”
I realize that Rufus has not told even the Gilmours about what happened on the flight. “Yes – it was spectacular. So, you and he were the original planned passengers, weren’t you?”
“Calvin’s been disappointed with his own decision about not flying with Rufus, because the flight was such a success. He’s a natural risk-taker: if it hadn’t been for that quarrel with Rufus, he’d have gone through with it. We’d have enjoyed the experience – but also, if Calvin and I were known as the passengers, it would have helped expansion of the business. Because since the flight, Calvin’s re-kindled his interest in Rufus’s ‘air-line’ idea. He’s even saying that a bigger plane, with more fuel, could carry passengers across the Atlantic one day. New York to London and Paris. By the time you and I are old, Agnes, maybe ships like this will be a thing of the past.”
I smile at such a fanciful idea. Gwyneth carries on talking. “Anyway, this is not a chance meeting. I was sent to look for you. Because he’s on board, too.”
“Who?”
“Rufus, of course. He and Calvin have made up their little tiff about airplanes. He’s in the cabin next to Calvin, Unity and me.”
“Unity’s on this trip too?”
“Calvin likes her to travel with us, when it’s possible. He sometimes says ‘I’d call her my right-hand man – but she’s better than any man.’ But, what I’ve come up here to tell you is that your Professor Axelson, he met Rufus at breakfast, and Rufus agreed to be hypnotized. Right now. As Rufus’s cabin is next door to us, I’ll take you down there. Rufus seems very keen to do it – to go back and relive what happened, that night on the Titanic.”
As we leave the Boat Deck and start to descend the Grand Staircase, a loudspeaker crackles and we hear the morning news announcement. The second item is this.
“Twelve members of New York’s Gophers Gang were found shot dead last night in an alleyway near Ninth Avenue, Manhattan. This killing, in the heart of the gang’s own territory, the so-called Hell’s Kitchen, is thought to be the work of the equally infamous Rhodes Boys. A gangland war is thought to be the cause of this shocking mass shooting.”
Gwyneth says nothing, but I’m thinking. As I tried to explain to Lieutenant Bouchard, if you counted Malone, there should have been thirteen corpses.
We knock and wait in the corridor outside Rufus’s cabin. After a few seconds his pink face appears at the door, and he welcomes me in. Gwyneth, however excuses herself and leaves, saying that she would only disrupt the hypnosis. I step into the cabin, but I notice no sign of the second-son poverty that Rufus is always talking about. He has one of the most luxurious Parlor Suites on the Olympic: it must have cost him a fortune. Five bottles of champagne, two opened, stand on the table in the centre of the room. There’s also an odd fishy whiff. Then I notice an empty plate: Rufus has just finished eating oysters.
“Good to meet you again, Agnes. You and I never did take that moonlit walk, did we?”
His smirk is over-familiar, impudent. And I notice that his lips aren’t quite clean. Looking into his alcohol-reddened face, I wonder that I ever found him likeable. The phrase ‘flushed with success’ runs through my mind. He grins again.
“Would you like some champagne?”
“No thank you.”
He walks over to the table and pours himself another glass. He doesn’t speak again, and indeed seems to have forgotten I’m in the room. I guess that to a charmer like him, a woman of moderate appearance sometimes doesn’t seem worth the effort. I see him putting the glass to his lips and tipping it back, his eyes looking vaguely into the middle distance, as if he’s daydreaming. I’m relieved when there’s a knock at the door. Rufus remains seated, and I open it. It’s Profe
ssor Axelson, and he is alone.
Rufus grins at his new visitor. “So, you’re here for this Fluence lark, are you, Prof? And where’s my dear chum Chis?”
“He’ll only be a moment, Mr du Pavey. Meanwhile, try to relax, to get in the frame of mind for hypnosis. You will remember that I told you that the hypnosis can only work with a willing patient…”
The professor’s speech trails off. He has just noticed the open champagne bottles on the table, and the now half-empty glass in Rufus’ hand. “Not drinking, sir, at this hour of the morning?”
“Of course I am. I believe it’s called a champagne breakfast. Very much deserved in my case. I’ve just become the most famous aviator in the world, so I’m entitled to celebrate. Do you have any problem with that?”
“Some say: in vino, veritas. But I have found that, when a hypnotic subject has had alcohol, the effects of the Hypnotic-Forensic Method can be – unpredictable.”
Rufus smiles. “I’m willing to undergo this mesmerism, Axelson. Maybe I believe in your Hypnotic Whatnot Method. Or maybe I don’t believe in it – and therefore feel I’ve got nothing to fear. Either way, I’ll sit in the chair, and you do your special talking, and I’ll go into a funny trance, and start saying things. Maybe I’ll tell you all my secrets under hypnosis. But probably, I’ll just talk gibberish. I don’t know whether